He’d been homeless for years.
In the main, he stuck to the streets around town where there were places, shops and pubs, where he often got something for his trouble. Just hanging around looking down and out usually did the trick. In most cases, any of the passers-by seeing his situation, crouched in a shop doorway, would instantly see that, for whatever reason, he was destitute. Occasionally, he received derision and dismissive comments about his appearance, but not often. Of course, people didn’t know his story. Couldn’t possibly know how he’d lost his mother. How being left to defend for himself in the world had toughened him up, had forced him to take on a new life and a new sense of independence.
Whenever he got really desperate, there were places he could go, knowing that the people there were good for a handout. The bits of food he was given were often those items that would otherwise be destined for the bin. This, of course, made no difference. The truth of it was that he often felt that he’d like to show his appreciation more.
However, a simple meow always seemed to be sufficient.
